


Know Me as You Do

by ssswampert



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssswampert/pseuds/ssswampert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So what is all of this about?” the angel prodded. Crowley clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. “Why are you hissing at the lovely people that come into this shop?”</p>
<p>He let out a breath through his gritted teeth. “You don’t think these people are lovely,” he replied snidely. “You can’t truly. They take your books. They—they—” he cut himself off and forced his shoulders down from ‘round his ears.</p>
<p>(Note: This is a repost of my own work from my old account.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know Me as You Do

**Author's Note:**

> This is a thing for Leeland that I wrote because. Yeah. I’m gonna write more things with Az and Crowley based on how she and I act soon. Because we pretty much are Az and Crowley.

**T** he woman was pretty attractive.

At least, Anthony J Crowley would think so if she wasn’t currently leaned on her elbows over the counter of Aziraphale’s bookshop, batting mile-long black lashes and squeezing her arms together so her assets (which weren’t as modestly covered as Crowley knew Aziraphale would have preferred and also not as they had been when she entered the shop) were squished together in a way she seemed to think was both done very subtly and even the smallest bit appealing.

Aziraphale was denying—as usual—the existence of any book she seemed to ask for. To Crowley, she seemed to come across as attempting to look smart when she actually wasn’t  _really_  all that intelligent.

But he might or might not have been letting his vision be clouded by the fact that this…  _harlot_  (for lack of a better word) was obviously making  _his_  angel uncomfortable, and she couldn’t even tell that she was doing it like he could.

The Harlot giggled at Aziraphale’s nervous sputters and tossed her hair over one shoulder. Crowley frowned, and his grip tightened on the long-gone-cold mug of cocoa Aziraphale had given him when he opened the shop. From the back room, Crowley didn’t quite have the perfect vantage point, but he  _could_  see the way the angel shifted from one foot to the other with unease, and he could see the way that the angel twitched his hand away when The Harlot touched two red-taloned fingers to its back.

“What about Austen?” The Harlot asked. Crowley watched Aziraphale shake his head and hissed out a breath between his teeth. Typical. “No? Could you tell me about them, then?” Her voice dropped an octave—obviously an attempt at being seductive. Even if he didn’t particularly  _care_ , Crowley knew what to look for—and then after another sickening giggle, she continued. “You really look like someone who knows what he’s talking about. I want to hear more,” she simpered, and then she dragged her fingers along the side of Aziraphale’s wrist.

Crowley saw  _red_.

(Well, that’s more an expression than what was actually _seen_ , but that’s obviously a given.)

He put the mug he was holding down on the closest flat surface (a stack of books topped by an original manuscript copy of some Charlotte Brontë novel; Aziraphale was going to Have Words with him when he caught this) and stood. He straightened his blazer, straightened his tie, and fixed his sunglasses, and then he stepped to the front of the store.

Crowley put a hand at the small of Aziraphale’s back and leaned into his shoulder. “Angel, I’m not finding anything she’s asking for,” he purred almost too warmly. “Perhaps it’s time you showed me where everything is again. You’ve gone and moved things around on me.” The angel’s back straightened almost immediately.

So did The Harlot’s.

“O-oh. Well. Er. Excuse me, dear,” Aziraphale mumbled. The Harlot sniffed and pulled a pocket mirror and a tube of lipstick from her handbag.

“Take your time, sweetheart,” she responded coolly. Crowley’s lip twitched, and he saw Aziraphale glance at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrows raised. Crowley dragged Aziraphale back to the back room and shut the door tight.

“You’re glaring, dear,” were the first words out of the angel’s mouth. And then he noticed the mug perched on the stack of books. His eyes narrowed. “Whatever sympathy you may have been looking for, you’ve just lost. If that leaves a ring, no matter how many miracles you do, we’re going to have a Come To The Lord Discussion.”

“I know,” Crowley snapped. “I know!” He snatched up the mug and set it instead on the table next to the books with more force than it required. He kept his back carefully on Aziraphale as he collected his temper.

“So what is all of this about?” the angel prodded. Crowley clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. “Why are you hissing at the lovely people that come into this shop?”

He let out a breath through his gritted teeth. “You don’t think these people are lovely,” he replied snidely. “You can’t truly. They take your books. They—they—” he cut himself off and forced his shoulders down from ‘round his ears.

“I’m sure they  _are_  very lovely people outside of that,” Aziraphale replied calmly. Crowley folded his arms over his chest.

“But,” Aziraphale continued, “What else?” His hand hovered over Crowley’s shoulder a moment before Crowley leaned into the anticipated contact.

“She was  _flirting!_  It was  _obviously_  making you uncomfortable, but did she stop?  _No_. It was sickening. She had to be stopped. That’s my job,” he admitted stiffly. Aziraphale rubbed his thumb over the curve of Crowley’s shoulder.

“My dear,” the angel started. His tone had gone soft in the way it usually did after Crowley said something he thought was amusing, or endearing, or whathaveyou. “She doesn’t know me as you do. There was no way she could have known.” Crowley snorted.

“I’m sure,” he replied. Aziraphale turned him easily with a small bit of applied pressure to his shoulder and rocked up onto the balls of his feet to press a (sort of soul-warmingly shy) kiss to his cheek.

“I appreciate the concern,” Aziraphale said, giving a small smile that didn’t quite look like he meant it. “But it’s really unnecessary, you know.” He rocked back and pulled the door to the front of the shop open as Crowley gave a short nod.

“Love you, angel,” Crowley called after him. Aziraphale paused in the doorway and threw an exasperated look that was marred by an honest smile over his shoulder, so Crowley tugged his sunglasses down just enough for Aziraphale to see the motion of a wink.

The Harlot had gone while they were talking.

Good.

Crowley grinned proudly to himself and followed Aziraphale out of the back room so he could drape himself over the angel’s back and bury his face in blond curls.


End file.
